


Throttled Skin (19.)

by LachrymoseLake



Series: Hurt/Comfort Prompt List. [1]
Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: (mentioned) - Freeform, Comfort Alex Danvers, Emotional Baggage, F/F, First Dates, Gen, Hurt Lena Luthor, Hurt/Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Late at Night, Lena Luthor Needs a Hug, Lillian Luthor Being an Asshole, Mild Hurt/Comfort, New Relationship, Non-Graphic Violence, Not Canon Compliant, Physical Abuse, Protective Alex Danvers, There Needs To Be A Tagging Handbook For Dummies, alternative universe, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-31
Updated: 2019-05-31
Packaged: 2020-03-30 03:55:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19034272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LachrymoseLake/pseuds/LachrymoseLake
Summary: After a night full of loud laughter and soft kisses, Lena finds herself in the cold of her kitchen, Alex sleeping soundly in her bed.That is until she isn't so asleep.That is until gentle hands land on her hips, and tended eyes trace Lena's half-asleep features.That is until gentle hands, and soft eyes see something wrong under the smeared makeup on Lena's throat.





	Throttled Skin (19.)

**Author's Note:**

> A pairing I didn't really know was a thing until recently but thought I could give a go anyway! 
> 
> I really like the idea of a strong, supportive Alex (but also a really soft and needy Alex... I just like Alex, honestly).
> 
> This isn't really canon and takes place somewhere late college years/just out of college where Lena hasn't quite escaped Lillian's hold yet.

    The starkly mottled skin was usually easily hidden. The near-black impressions of fingers usually covered by cuff or collar, scarf or concealer. But so many ‘usually’s didn’t apply here. Lena didn’t usually have laughs filling her apartment or warm bodies clustered on the sofa in front of the TV. She didn’t usually have the memories of the perfect date with a beautiful woman, memories of gentle kisses, and hard. Nor did she usually have hope for her future, one of domestic simplicity and bliss.

 

     Usually, the soft press of a body almost slack with sleep wasn’t a concern, nor the sharp elbow that pressed just wrong. Or the sleepy movement that rubbed a sleepshirt across her neck, taking the concealer with it, taking her shield. 

 

     But then ‘usually’ when Lena woke in the night, for once without the fresh ache of harsh words and cold, crippling fingers, she didn’t have sleepy brown eyes follow her retreat to the kitchen. 

 

      She felt the cool counter under her palms, the slight sweat making her shirt cling to her back and shoulders. The kitchen hummed with the sound of the fridge, the slow drip of the broken tap and her own fractured sigh. She felt the chill set it, nipping at her forearms as she leant forward, forehead pressed to palms as she gazed blankly through the kitchen window into the depths of National City's night sky.

 

      For once, dreams hadn't woken her, nor memories. For once, it was simply her body waking as it had done for weeks- in the middle of the night. Usually, it would be waking to gasps and cut-off screams, not tonight. But even the safety of a (more than) friendly body in her bed couldn't force Lena's body to relax, to sleep through the night.

 

     A warm hand settled between her shoulders, and a presence settled behind her. She hadn't heard it come, not the soft creak of the door, or the pad of bare feet of carpet, then tile.

 

     “Hey,” A low, sleep-thick voice murmured and that hand on her back curled up to hold her shoulder. Lena looked behind her, small smile fighting to tug at her lips. The drowsy brown eyes and mussed reddish hair were endearing, to say the least.

 

     There were flashes of the previous evening, of candles and ice cream shared with one spoon, smiles that reached her eyes and soft kisses under door frames. 

 

     “Hey,” She croaked. Those brown eyes blinked, awareness and awakeness coming back to them as sleep-chapped lips pulled down. Brown eyes trailed from one eye to the other, then down to her nose and lips and- and then they hardened. Then those once soft eyes grew hard and flinty, but her voice was calm. Too calm. A false calm.

 

     “Lena. Look at me, please, look at me.” She refused the near-demand, looking away and trying to hide from piercing eyes that suddenly seemed to see _everything_. But she was stood at the counter, she was trapped, and those eyes were steadfast. “Lena, Lena come with me.” That same low voice gently prompted. The hand on her shoulder pulled her steadily away, and around.

 

     She couldn’t look at those eyes, suddenly the fear of what they had  _ seen  _ was crawling up her throat. A soft finger nudged her chin, tapped it and urged it relentlessly up until their eyes could meet. Green and brown, a forest set amoung a storm.- Rain drenched leaves and wind-torn bark.

 

     “Lena," Alex's voice whispered, pleaded, begged ever so convincingly, "where did you get those bruises?” And oh the soft caring in that tone was almost enough to make Lena crumble. Those bruises. How was she supposed to explain ‘those bruises’? Lena couldn’t, that’s how. She couldn’t. She couldn’t. She _ couldn't.  _ She shook her head, side to side with hair loose and flying. Lena's breath snagged in her throat as her hand came up and grabbed the opposite elbow.

 

      “I fell.” Came out in a tremulous tone, voice quiet and brow scrunched- pleading. Those muddied eyes tinged with scepticism, voice a tempered sarcasm.

 

      “Where, into a statute? ‘Cause that’s the only thing that could have put fingerprints on you like that. A statute or-”

 

      “Stop. Please stop. It’s nothing. I promise it’s nothing- just. Just, let’s go back to bed, okay? It’s nothing. It’s  _ nothing _ .” She didn’t dwell on how desperate her voice was. She couldn’t, or she would see herself objectively. See the messy hair and crumpled clothes, the dark eyes and the even darker bruises, the broken spirit and the fightless slope of her shoulders. 

 

      She couldn’t think about that, couldn’t see  _ that _ .

 

      So she didn’t. 

 

      So she tried to push past the concerned eyes and gentle hands.  And so she was caught by those tender hands, fingers soft and caressing against her skin, warm eyes imploring.

 

      “It’s not ‘nothing’, this is something. Lena, this is  _ something.  _ Are you…” And they were lost for words, brow furrowing. Alex almost seemed pained, almost- 

 

      Lena pulled away from those searching, soft hands; lungs strained around a choked gasp. For a split second, those gentle hands felt cold, those eyes hard and unyielding, voice sneering and tongue heavy with harsh laughter. But only for a split second, because when she drew back, those hands didn’t follow, didn’t bruise. Those brown eyes grew sad; there was no anger starting there, not that same one that scorched Lena every time — scorched in the shape of fingers and hands, scrapes and cuts.

 

       “It’s-”

 

       “ _ No,”  _ Alex  said, soft but  _ firm.  _ Alex  didn’t try to approach her, didn’t try to trap her, but also didn’t let her  _ run _ . God, she wanted to run. “No, it isn’t 'nothing'. Lena please, please. Tell me who did this. Was it Lil-” Alex's mouth was covered as Lena pushed forward, fear of being held utterly overrun by the fear of  _ that  _ name. 

 

       Soft eyes melted strong- A quiet strength, a steadfast one. Soft eyes told her it was okay, told her that it was okay to be afraid, but that she didn’t have to be. Not anymore. 

 

       She moved her hand from clamping Alex’s lips shut, letting it drift, brushing along the sharp jaw, under Alex's ear, until Lena clung to a strong neck. Held that neck to keep her back, held it to keep herself standing. She looked up into those soft eyes, her own tired, drooping with wear. With a sigh she seemed to collapse, everything holding her up crumbling, everything but that hand on Alex's neck. Her forehead made its way onto a solid chest, breaths hitched and uneven. 

 

       It was a second of calm, and then it was shattered. 

 

       The agent moved slowly, hands rising to cup her hips gently. She almost startled back, almost. But she knew where that would end, trapped against the counter, caged. So she screwed her eyes shut, so she tensed her every muscle and twisted her hand into the fabric of their rumpled sleep shirt. So she opened her mouth, voice cracking, creaking like a time-worn chair with far too much weight placed upon it. Desperate and quiet.

 

       “Please. Please, don’t touch me. Please don’t. Please, please, please.” And She didn’t. And Alex's hands dropped without a touch. And Lena was respected, her words heard. And she was cradled in the silent support. And she felt the steady thrum of Alex's heart against her forehead, against her palm. And she was swaddled in everything that was _A_ _lex_ _ : _ the earnest fondness, fierce protectiveness, simmering strength, pliant softness, comforting warmth and untouchable steel that was so easily hidden behind a too big sleep-shirt. 

 

       Lena wasn’t touched, but she slowly wrapped her arms around Alex's waist. She wasn’t touched, and timid tears stained cloth. She wasn’t touched and yet she was supported.

 

       Eventually, tears slowed, and inching movements had them both moving backwards, towards the bedroom. Their bodies never parting, the warmth that filled the air around them clinging pleasantly as they went. And as the tears fled, used up and dry, only sleep was left in their place. As Lena relaxed her body sagged, strength sapped. But she needn't worry, because strong arms caught her before the floor heaved up. Alex's soft scent carried her safely to the vast expanse of the bed, hummed words tucked her in, and a warm body slid in soon after, wrapping around cold shoulders and cradling Lena's hair-ruffed head to the crook of Alex's neck.

 

       Even on the brink of sleep, Lena knew the conversation wasn't over. But on the brink of sleep, she hardly cared.

**Author's Note:**

> Positive feedback welcome! Also any questions, and if you know of any good hurt/comfort prompts, that'd be cool too. This is prompted by a 1-20 list of sentence prompts I found on Tumblr, and is most likely going to be a part of a series. But new prompts are always welcome.
> 
> Anyways, I hope you have a grad-tastic week!


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